If you are a country hick, this is the shot for you...
For all you alcoholics out there, here's a recipe that you would enjoy! I know, it sounds a bit vile, but trust me, it tastes just like chicken. Yum, alcohol and pickle juice!
Shot of tequila with a dill pickle juice shot chaser!
1 oz Tequila
1 oz dill pickle juice
or
Jameson and pickle juice shot
1 oz Jameson
1oz dill pickle juice
*Note*
1. Don't be a fool. Use dill pickle juice, not sweet pickle juice.
2. This is an AT HOME shot. Don't go to some super trendy Hollywood night club, asking for Jameson and pickle juice shot or a tequila with a dill pickle juice chaser. They will tell you to take your ass back to Louisiana.
It's the weekend, you are a drunk, get your drink on!
Friday, June 6, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
I'd rather sleep with Flavor Flav than be forced to watch Living Lohan again
Okay, so since I was unable to post bail because I am broke and unemployed, I remain in jail. As part of my punishment, I was thrown into solitary confinement, because for obvious reasons pickles are harassed in general population. My magnificent living quarters contain a lumpy bed bugged ridden bed and an old black and white TV. Roaches, rats and blood covered the floor. As part of my punishment, the guard informed me that at 10:00pm my TV would automatically turn on and I would be forced to watch whatever show was on the channel. At first, this didn’t seem like any sort of punishment. Boy was I wrong.
So that night I heard the alarm, and like everyone in solitary confinement, I did as I was told. I walked over and turned on the TV. And what appeared? Living Lohan, the reality TV show which follows Lindsay Lohan’s mother and siblings around. At first I thought I was on the wrong channel or that the guards were joking when they said I was required to watch this show. But, as I listened I noticed that everyone else in solitary was tuned into the same channel. Unfortunately, I was on the right station.
I’ve had a few ulcers in my life and have slammed a few fingers into doors. I’ve even walked into a few mailboxes and a few people have tried to make me into relish a few times. But never have I ever been in as much pain as I was in while watching Living Lohan. And I wasn’t alone. The guy next to me, started to violently weep and the guy across from me started to bang his head into the door. And, the guy two doors down from me. Well, he must have been in jail long enough to see the beginning of the season and the terribleness of the show must have really worn him down because during a commercial break, he demanded the electric chair.
So what did the pickle do? Well, I requested that the TV be removed and after the officers laughed at me, they informed me that they could not do that. In fact, I would be forced to watch the show every day until I was released from jail. So I immediately called my lawyer and told him I would plead guilty to all charges, whether it be disorderly conduct or prostitution. I didn’t care. I wanted out. So, today I have a hearing to confess to a crime I didn’t commit, just to not be forced to watch another episode of this awful show.
So that night I heard the alarm, and like everyone in solitary confinement, I did as I was told. I walked over and turned on the TV. And what appeared? Living Lohan, the reality TV show which follows Lindsay Lohan’s mother and siblings around. At first I thought I was on the wrong channel or that the guards were joking when they said I was required to watch this show. But, as I listened I noticed that everyone else in solitary was tuned into the same channel. Unfortunately, I was on the right station.
I’ve had a few ulcers in my life and have slammed a few fingers into doors. I’ve even walked into a few mailboxes and a few people have tried to make me into relish a few times. But never have I ever been in as much pain as I was in while watching Living Lohan. And I wasn’t alone. The guy next to me, started to violently weep and the guy across from me started to bang his head into the door. And, the guy two doors down from me. Well, he must have been in jail long enough to see the beginning of the season and the terribleness of the show must have really worn him down because during a commercial break, he demanded the electric chair.
So what did the pickle do? Well, I requested that the TV be removed and after the officers laughed at me, they informed me that they could not do that. In fact, I would be forced to watch the show every day until I was released from jail. So I immediately called my lawyer and told him I would plead guilty to all charges, whether it be disorderly conduct or prostitution. I didn’t care. I wanted out. So, today I have a hearing to confess to a crime I didn’t commit, just to not be forced to watch another episode of this awful show.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Walking into a mail box can get you arrested!
As I was walking to the mental clinic yesterday, past a drunk guy puking on the sidewalk, I looked forward and noticed LAPD, slamming some guy into the dirty pavement. The cop was slapping handcuffs on the poor guy's wrists and digging his boot into the guy's dumbo ear. He was being arrested for jaywalking.
So, as I was observing the situation and not paying attention to where I was going, I walked right into a metal mailbox. I hit the pavement with a big giant thud. A bunch of people passing by started violently pointing and laughing at me and one threw a beer bottle at my fat head.
Then the same LA cop walked away from the guy and started to venture toward me. I thought he was going to see if I was okay. But, he ended up arresting me...for disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct.
And since there are no jails for fickle pickles, I am being held in a small jar, awaiting trial.
Life is hard
So, as I was observing the situation and not paying attention to where I was going, I walked right into a metal mailbox. I hit the pavement with a big giant thud. A bunch of people passing by started violently pointing and laughing at me and one threw a beer bottle at my fat head.
Then the same LA cop walked away from the guy and started to venture toward me. I thought he was going to see if I was okay. But, he ended up arresting me...for disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct.
And since there are no jails for fickle pickles, I am being held in a small jar, awaiting trial.
Life is hard
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Diamond Vixen, Ivy League Porn Star, has entered the building
When I go out at night, I like to lie. It’s fun and it provides me with some amusement! So when I was out with my friend this weekend, I decided to be Ivy League porn star Diamond Vixen, an up and coming porn star from Van Nuys. I don’t have big boobs or bleach blonde hair. I’m short and look like a Superficklepickle. So in other words, I’m a bit funny looking. So, naturally I thought, that no one would believe my porn star act. Boy was I super duper wrong.
So, I decided to try my luck on these two military men. I thought since they were in the army, they could read through my bullshit. Obviously I was wrong. They wondered what channel Ivy League porn star Diamond Vixen I had been on. They asked where they could buy my videos. When I told them, my footage was on you tube, they got especially excited. Afterall, on you tube, they could see me for free.
They even asked if my friend was also a Ivy League porn star. I told them that she was my apprentice and I was teaching her the ropes to be fickle pickle super duper Ivy League porn star (but between me and you, she doesn’t have the talent to be a top notch porn star).
Then I tried my luck with this goofy bartender. I told him I wanted him to be one of the contestants in this new porn game show I was going to be starring in. He asked me how much the gig paid. I told him it paid minimum wage plus a keg of stale beer. He agreed! I guess, everyone is trying to find their way into Hollywood.
But the end of the night surpised me greatly. At my hotel, I asked the manager where I could get a tub of wipped cream, eight gross of cherries, some hot fudge and cookie crumbs, for a “video shoot” to be done in his hotel. He perked up a bit. He said he could drop off the items for free, if he could watch the filming and provide constructive feedback. I told him, it was a closed set, until he slipped me a fifty dollar bill. Then it became a closed set, with a budget of 50 dollars.
So, my question is, do I look like a Ivy League porn star or is it enough that I just said I was a Ivy League porn star. Are men that incredibly gullible? After all, I am just a Superficklepickle. Fickle pickles are usually not Ivy League porn stars. Fickle pickles don’t have jobs.
So, I decided to try my luck on these two military men. I thought since they were in the army, they could read through my bullshit. Obviously I was wrong. They wondered what channel Ivy League porn star Diamond Vixen I had been on. They asked where they could buy my videos. When I told them, my footage was on you tube, they got especially excited. Afterall, on you tube, they could see me for free.
They even asked if my friend was also a Ivy League porn star. I told them that she was my apprentice and I was teaching her the ropes to be fickle pickle super duper Ivy League porn star (but between me and you, she doesn’t have the talent to be a top notch porn star).
Then I tried my luck with this goofy bartender. I told him I wanted him to be one of the contestants in this new porn game show I was going to be starring in. He asked me how much the gig paid. I told him it paid minimum wage plus a keg of stale beer. He agreed! I guess, everyone is trying to find their way into Hollywood.
But the end of the night surpised me greatly. At my hotel, I asked the manager where I could get a tub of wipped cream, eight gross of cherries, some hot fudge and cookie crumbs, for a “video shoot” to be done in his hotel. He perked up a bit. He said he could drop off the items for free, if he could watch the filming and provide constructive feedback. I told him, it was a closed set, until he slipped me a fifty dollar bill. Then it became a closed set, with a budget of 50 dollars.
So, my question is, do I look like a Ivy League porn star or is it enough that I just said I was a Ivy League porn star. Are men that incredibly gullible? After all, I am just a Superficklepickle. Fickle pickles are usually not Ivy League porn stars. Fickle pickles don’t have jobs.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Sure Obama is sexy but my eyes are on Dick
Sure Obama is hot...in a classic pretty boy way but the Super Fickle Pickle has always liked the rugged unpredictable type. This is the reason why the Super Fickle Pickle has been setting her sights on Dick Cheney. He is like so hard core, kind of like a neighborhood gangster. Maybe I would call him OG Dick. I think its really hot how he can profit off other peoples misery. Maybe he could use some of that misery money and buy me a diamond necklace. From Africa of course.
If we were to get together, I'd move him into my swanky Hollywood apartment which has a breathtaking view of an overflowing dumpster, dead skunk and random piles of urine. We could take walks hand in hand together past the many homeless that live on the streets of Hollywood. On Saturdays we could even taunt them by walking by them while chopping on big juicy hamburgers. It would be a match made in heaven.
We could open up a business with our exploitation money and pay more people minimum wage so that they can't afford to live anywhere and thus live below the poverty line. We could even pay a select chosen few below the minimum wage just for shits and giggles and never offer them benefits or raises. We can offer creative incentives to entice high school students to drop out of school, such as a free hamburger, or free weed for a month. I have such plans for us. Let's leave all children behind.
The Super Fickle Pickle thinks that Dick Cheney is the man for her. She thinks he has some qualities that would make him the perfect companion. OG Dick, if you are out there, give the Pickle a call. For 5000 a night, we can have some fun.
If we were to get together, I'd move him into my swanky Hollywood apartment which has a breathtaking view of an overflowing dumpster, dead skunk and random piles of urine. We could take walks hand in hand together past the many homeless that live on the streets of Hollywood. On Saturdays we could even taunt them by walking by them while chopping on big juicy hamburgers. It would be a match made in heaven.
We could open up a business with our exploitation money and pay more people minimum wage so that they can't afford to live anywhere and thus live below the poverty line. We could even pay a select chosen few below the minimum wage just for shits and giggles and never offer them benefits or raises. We can offer creative incentives to entice high school students to drop out of school, such as a free hamburger, or free weed for a month. I have such plans for us. Let's leave all children behind.
The Super Fickle Pickle thinks that Dick Cheney is the man for her. She thinks he has some qualities that would make him the perfect companion. OG Dick, if you are out there, give the Pickle a call. For 5000 a night, we can have some fun.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Leave your Buketheaded, Divorced Friends At Home!
This Saturday some friends and I decided to go out in Hollywood. Last minute, my friend said she was going to bring her recently divorced highly critical, snobby cousin Bianca with us. Oh boy!
Bianca came into my house, complaining the entire time. She complained that there was no adequate parking for her BMW so I apologized. She claimed my apartment was drafty so I gave her a blanket. Then, she claimed the blanket was itchy and that it had lice in it. I then took it away from her and told her to take a few shots. She needed to calm down. I brought out the bottle of vodka. She said she didn’t drink cheap vodka. Then I politely told her that she could walk down to the local CVS and buy us all a bottle of Grey Goose. We would drink it! She shut up.
I was thinking, gosh it’s so strange that this train wretch is recently divorced. To me, she seemed like the perfect wife. So, the story doesn’t end here. So, what happened next? Bianca is a mess.
Next we went out to a bar and she continued to take shot after shot after shot. Toward the end of the night, she even started taking other peoples drinks when they weren't drinking. She even took a dollar out of the bartenders tip jar. Then, suddenly, she yanked off her shirt and began to unbutton her skirt, giving the patrons a strip tease. We ran to her to prevent her from stripping even more and took her drunk ass to my apartment to sleep off her drunkness. The next day, she woke up and screamed out that she was leaving. She needed to get ready for work. After asking a few questions, she informed me of her occupation. Little miss Bianca is a therapist!
No wonder crazy people never get better.
Bianca came into my house, complaining the entire time. She complained that there was no adequate parking for her BMW so I apologized. She claimed my apartment was drafty so I gave her a blanket. Then, she claimed the blanket was itchy and that it had lice in it. I then took it away from her and told her to take a few shots. She needed to calm down. I brought out the bottle of vodka. She said she didn’t drink cheap vodka. Then I politely told her that she could walk down to the local CVS and buy us all a bottle of Grey Goose. We would drink it! She shut up.
I was thinking, gosh it’s so strange that this train wretch is recently divorced. To me, she seemed like the perfect wife. So, the story doesn’t end here. So, what happened next? Bianca is a mess.
Next we went out to a bar and she continued to take shot after shot after shot. Toward the end of the night, she even started taking other peoples drinks when they weren't drinking. She even took a dollar out of the bartenders tip jar. Then, suddenly, she yanked off her shirt and began to unbutton her skirt, giving the patrons a strip tease. We ran to her to prevent her from stripping even more and took her drunk ass to my apartment to sleep off her drunkness. The next day, she woke up and screamed out that she was leaving. She needed to get ready for work. After asking a few questions, she informed me of her occupation. Little miss Bianca is a therapist!
No wonder crazy people never get better.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Go Ahead and Let Out the April Fool in You!
Today began like any other day for the Super Fickle Pickle. I woke up, scraped the crust from my eye, burnt a frozen waffle and stepped on a sewing needle. Everything was going well until I walked out of my house and saw a man with no shirt climbing up a palm tree. Apparently he was trying to get a coconut, in a palm tree… in Los Angeles. And then I thought about it. Maybe he is climbing up this dead palm tree because it’s April Fools Day. Maybe he feels like today is the day where he can act like a total utter fool.
So, since I am a Super Fickle Pickle I decide that I too will act like a fool today. I could decide to not match today. But then I thought about it. My clothes never match. I could cartwheel down the street…if only I knew how to cartwheel. I could throw ice cream balls at people out my window. I could send a roast beef sandwich to my vegetarian friends… and a tofu sandwich to all my meat eating friends. I could find my imaginary friend an imaginary friend. Of course that’s something I could do any other day.
And then I thought about it. I’m the Super Fickle Pickle! Without even trying I am an April Fool Year around. This a day when the world honors me and all the fickle pickles that have some “fool” in them. So, the Super Fickle Pickle wishes you and your fool friends a happy Fickle Pickle April Fool’s day. Go ahead and let your inner fool out!
So, since I am a Super Fickle Pickle I decide that I too will act like a fool today. I could decide to not match today. But then I thought about it. My clothes never match. I could cartwheel down the street…if only I knew how to cartwheel. I could throw ice cream balls at people out my window. I could send a roast beef sandwich to my vegetarian friends… and a tofu sandwich to all my meat eating friends. I could find my imaginary friend an imaginary friend. Of course that’s something I could do any other day.
And then I thought about it. I’m the Super Fickle Pickle! Without even trying I am an April Fool Year around. This a day when the world honors me and all the fickle pickles that have some “fool” in them. So, the Super Fickle Pickle wishes you and your fool friends a happy Fickle Pickle April Fool’s day. Go ahead and let your inner fool out!
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